


A Helping Hand

by thedevilchicken



Category: Coming Out On Top (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anonymity, Blindfolds, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Getting Together, Handcuffs, M/M, Misunderstandings, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Zoë has a favor to ask. When he agrees, Brad has no idea what he's getting himself into.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [track_04](https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/gifts).



"I have a favor to ask," Zoë said, and Brad really can't say he didn't feel at least kinda suspicious about that. It was really just good sense. It was really just self-preservation.

Okay, so ordinarily Zoë was a pretty solid kind of gal. She'd been his tutor for a couple of months by that night and Brad was of the totally considered opinion that Zoë was one of the coolest and weirdest and most completely incomprehensible people he'd ever met, and who said tutors and their tutees couldn't be friends, anyway? He liked her. They hung out after they'd finished hammering the heck out of his essays and then sometimes just because they felt like it. They watched movies and they ate popcorn till he felt like he needed to go run a whole half-marathon to work off the damn calorie content, so he usually walked back to his place instead of calling a cab then called to let her know he hadn't gotten himself mugged cutting through the park after dark. 

She took him to galleries and maybe sometimes he thought he could almost see what she saw. She yelled at the TV with him whenever they watched a game. She talked art and he talked football and she gave really great deep tissue massages that made him groan like in a porno so who knew what her downstairs neighbors must've thought, and she'd already guessed he wasn't interested in girls about forty minutes after they first met but somehow he didn't mind that she knew 'cause it made things easier around her. He'd been keeping up a solid B average. Zoë was some hot goddamn stuff.

Okay, so Zoë was usually pretty solid, but right then she'd just answered the door to her loft in a skimpy vinyl _thing_ \- who the hell even knew the names of the different types of women's underwear? Daisy had tried to explain it to him once, complete with cringey visual aids and pouting, but he'd just zoned out and daydreamed the plays he'd maybe make in his first NFL game instead. But Zoë was wearing a skimpy vinyl thing and Brad had just raced the hell over after practice in his brother's beat-up SUV 'cause she'd texted him that she had an emergency.

Brad huffed out a breath as he stepped inside and tossed his gear onto the couch. Honestly, the outfit wasn't even close to the weirdest thing he'd ever seen her in since the day they'd met; honestly, he needed to stop being surprised by anything his lunatic tutor did.

"I swear to God, Zoë, if this is another art installation..." he said, shooting her a semi-warning glance. She'd already gotten him involved in two of them since they'd met, not to mention the fricking painting - _I think you should pose for me_ , she'd said, and that had sounded fine till he'd realized she meant _pose nude_. She even had the painting still hanging on her wall - he guessed the saving grace was she'd cut him off at the neck, something to do with challenging societal norms of objectification though he was pretty sure that was just an excuse to have a naked guy on the wall.

She put one hand over her vinyl-covered heart once she'd locked the door behind him. "It's not," she replied, with a mischievous kind of smile, though that was pretty much her default setting. "Cross my heart and hope to die. And I don't plan on dying till I'm old and gray in my bed in the Caribbean with my fourth husband the twenty-year-old masseur who totally married me for my money, so that's how you know I'm serious."

"So, let me guess. You've got a guy tied up naked in the bedroom and you've lost the key to your handcuffs."

"No, I've definitely got the key," she said. Judging by the key she had dangling on a chain around her neck, that much was true at the very least.

Brad raised his brows. "So you _have_ got a guy tied up?"

She beamed at him, innocent like pretty much none of her art was and she'd probably never been. "Well, actually, it's a funny story," she said. "You remember how I said I broke up with my ex because we wanted different things?"

Brad crossed his arms over his chest. He narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, and?"

"It was more like we wanted the _same_ thing," she said, and then she paused for dramatic effect. She was really, really good at dramatic effect. "The problem was, that thing was another guy's penis." 

Brad rubbed his eyes. He scrubbed one hand through his still shower-damp hair. This pretty much still didn't sound a whole lot like life or death but where Zoë was concerned, who even really knew?

"Your ex is gay?" he said.

"Yes," she replied. "Or bi, at least. I never did work that out."

"And he's tied up in the bedroom."

"Yes."

"And this is an emergency?"

She shrugged. "He's a nice guy," she said. "I said I'd try to help."

"And I'm..." He trailed off. He raised his brows as the answer became suddenly, horribly, crystal clear. "Zoë, did you call me over here so I could fuck your ex-boyfriend?"

She beamed, all saintly pearly whites. He guessed he was right. 

After that, he guesses the problem was that he didn't say no. He's pretty sure she would've let it go - in the end, at least - if he'd just said _No!_ and not _Why'd you ask me?_ But he didn't say no, and probably enough time's passed now that he can admit it wasn't all to do with shock. Pretty much nothing was shocking where Zoë was concerned, after all. They'd known each other for about fifteen minutes and they pretty much already knew each other too well.

"I guess maybe because you think he's hot and I happen to know you haven't gotten any in at least the last six months," she said. "And I'm pretty sure you'd try to make it at least as good for him as it is for you, you big ol' teddybear." She reached up and patted his cheek to illustrate her point. "Besides, he won't even know it's you. He's wearing a blindfold and you don't have to say a word. In fact, you really _shouldn't_ say a word."

After _that_ , he guesses the problem was he was intrigued. The problem was, she was right that he'd been basically celibate since the start of the freaking summer and it had 100% not been his choice, and really, Zoë's ex was hot. He'd seen him half-naked at the gym a couple of times, he'd seen him leaving Zoë's place a couple of times, he'd seen him around campus a couple of times, he'd gotten off thinking about him a couple of times, and yup, once he was imagining him naked and handcuffed to the bed, that was it, Horny Jock Brain took over and Common Sense Brain got tucked away in the closet. He was in. Against his better judgement, assuming he had any, he was totally in.

Zoë explained the plan on the way to the bedroom - it was some kind of a wish-fulfilment fantasy thing where Brad would be make-believing he was someone else and she said Ian would already be prepped and ready, which was apparently something Brad's stupid dick got real interested in inside his track pants as they walked. That was really weird, getting a semi standing next to Zoë, though she probably would've thought it was fricking hilarious. Then they went into the bedroom and Jesus, oh Jesus, there he was, just like she'd said, absolutely no joking involved. Ian was cuffed to the headboard with a pair of Zoë's pink fluffy handcuffs - it maybe should've alarmed Brad that he knew she had multiples thereof - stark naked and half hard with a blindfold tied down tight over his eyes. He looked amazing against Zoë's dark silk sheets. Brad had crashed there a couple of times, in the king bed with Zoë who it turned out snored louder than anyone he'd ever met in his life, so he knew how good they felt.

"Ian, I've got a friend here with me," Zoë said. "We talked about this before. He's going to help out, okay?"

Brad could see Ian's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Ian nodded. "Yeah," he said, his voice sounding half-strangled and and a couple of tones too high, so he cleared his throat and swallowed again. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Zoë grinned triumphantly and patted Brad on the back. "Then I'll leave you in his capable hands," she said, and she disappeared back out of the room. Hopefully, Brad thought, to change out of the outfit she was wearing. He'd seen her wearing worse, but he wasn't sure he'd seen her wearing less.

He guesses he could've still left then - he wasn't bound to it, it wasn't like he'd signed some kind of a freaky contract. He could've changed his mind and thought about it rationally and turned around and left, gone home and spent the night reviewing tapes with Beau in the den or trying to avoid Daisy who kept sending him creepy webcam stripteases via Dropbox, watched some shiftily-downloaded porn that'd probably filled his hard drive full of malware and got off with his dick in his hand in front of his laptop just like always. But he didn't leave. He looked at Ian lying there on the bed, his chest moving as he breathed, right there, _real_ , and jeez, he knew leaving was totally out of the question. He could do this. He was going to do this.

He pulled off his shirt and tossed it into a chair. He toed off his sneakers. He pushed down his track pants and he left himself standing there naked and barefoot on the hardwood floor and jeez, one hand around his cock as he looked at Ian stretched out there on the bed, it didn't take long till he was hard. He went to the bed. He knelt on it and made the mattress dip, he crawled up closer, he settled there between Ian's calves. When he touched him, just his palms against his thighs, Ian flinched and then laughed out loud and shifted against the sheets. 

"Sorry," Ian said. "It's just your hands are kinda cold, y'know?" Which was a lame excuse because Brad's hands were pretty warm and he figured Ian was probably just nervous, like he was. But then he parted his thighs a little wider like he hoped that'd show he really did want it, nervous or not. 

So, Brad touched him again. He ran his palms over his calves and round his knees, up the insides of his thighs. He hitched Ian's legs up so his knees were bent and his feet were flat to the bed. He shuffled up between his legs and let Ian's thighs bump against his hips. He looked fricking amazing, his muscles all taut but like he was trying all the time to make himself relax, and wow, the way he blushed when one of Brad's hands skimmed his waist and his abdomen and the back of his fingers brushed against his cock, it was pretty much the hottest thing Brad had ever seen in real life. 

Zoë had left a tube of lube there on the nightstand by the bed, along with the spare key for the cuffs. Brad took the lube, uncapped it, squeezed some onto his fingers and slicked himself really thickly, slowly, base to tip, and then he turned his attention to Ian. Zoë really hadn't been kidding when she'd said Ian'd be ready for him; there was a freaking dildo pushed up in him, so Brad grasped the base of it and slowly pulled it out just a couple of inches and Ian made a sort of muffled sound, pressing his mouth against one bicep. Brad pushed it back in, just as slowly. He fucked him with it, maybe even slower, Ian yanking on the cuffs around his wrists as he moved, his muscles tensing and shifting as he practically rode the damn thing and Jesus, Brad's brain was so foggy with the whole thing that all could think about was Ian's asshole stretching around his cock the way it did around that toy. It was big, but he was pretty sure he was bigger. People usually thought he was exaggerating till they saw and people usually thought it must be great once they knew, but being hung like a horse had some great big disadvantages. He'd been halfway convinced he'd never get to have sex with anyone, but there Ian was, wanting it.

Brad guessed he kinda knew what he was doing as he nudged his slicked-up dick down between Ian's cheeks, at least in principle - considering his overprotective brother and the whole church thing back home, he hadn't had a whole lot of experience in that direction, but Ian took a long, slow breath as Brad rubbed the tip of his cock against his hole and that was totally all the encouragement he needed. Ian hiked his knees up higher. Brad ran one hand up the back of one of Ian's thighs and dropped his shoulder, eased his ankle over it, and he pressed a little harder against Ian's hole, feeling him start to open up against him. Zoë had mentioned Ian had never actually been with a guy, but that it wasn't like he was a stranger to the whole experience. They'd used toys, she said, hers for a start 'cause she'd caught him with one and found it sort of hot at the time but then she'd told him to buy his own. The head of Brad's cock pushed in past that first ring of muscle and Ian caught his bottom lip between his teeth and Brad pushed deeper, stop-starting, shuffling closer, slow, till Ian had taken the whole length of him. That was it: Brad was a virgin no more. Neither was Ian. 

Brad rubbed the base of his cock with his thumb as he knelt there. He rubbed the line of Ian's perineum, right down to the place his dick was shoved up inside him, where Ian was stretched out and tight around him. He shifted his hips and oh God, he was so hot, Ian's whole body felt like he was on fricking fire and the way his muscles shifted and his throat worked as he swallowed, the rise and fall of his chest with his shallow breath, it was better than Brad had imagined. When he shifted his hips and moved in him it wasn't smooth but it felt good. When he ran his hands up to Ian's waist and held him there as he moved in him, his rhythm was crappy but it felt good. When he leaned down over him, Ian yelped at the stretch of his leg over his shoulder but once he'd gotten his thighs around Brad's waist and cinched his ankles together instead, when he pulled Brad deeper, it felt _really_ good. The way Ian gasped and shook his head and pulled his legs real tight, it seemed like it felt good for him, too.

Frankly, it didn't take long till Brad was done. He'd never thought he'd have a problem with stamina except then there he was, balls-deep in Ian, and he knew what was going to happen and he couldn't stop it, not even close. He clamped one hand over his own mouth to keep from making a sound - it was a whole hell of a lot more difficult than it'd sounded when Zoë told him to be quiet - and he shoved himself in hard and deep and jerked and came inside him. Maybe he'd been meant to use a condom but he hadn't seen any and Ian didn't seem to care - he just pushed against Brad's spent and suddenly fricking hypersensitive dick and so Brad pushed himself back up onto his knees and he wrapped one hand around Ian's cock and he stroked him, he squeezed some lube out onto his palm and he stroked him harder, still pushed up tight inside him. 

He rocked his hips against him, and Ian groaned and he bucked up into his hand and he fucked himself on the length of Brad's cock and he moaned out loud and jeez, it was nothing like a porno, he sounded dumb and he sounded hot and his skin was sweaty just like Brad's was and his hair was stuck to his forehead with it. And when Ian came, three or four bursts of it over his belly, it was disgusting and it was hot and Brad could totally have gone again if he'd just had a couple of minutes sitting on the sideline, except then Ian called him _Mark_. It felt like a slap in the face. He honestly had no idea why. He knows he should've expected it.

He pulled out while Ian was still catching his breath; he watched his come start to leak just a little out of Ian's hole and he reached down to rub it slowly around the rim of tightening muscle with the pad of one thumb. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the inside of One of Ian's thighs, just briefly, just on impulse, because maybe that guy Mark would've done it. Then he stood up. He wiped himself off on a conveniently placed towel, and he put his clothes back on. He went back into the den, gave Zoë a not quite pointed look, grabbed his gear and left.

It totally hadn't been an emergency, and maybe he should've known better, But as first times went, he guessed it could've been worse.

\---

Afterwards, things all carried on as normal. Kinda. Maybe not. He hadn't expected it to affect him, but apparently it had.

The next time he saw Ian, he'd been in the weight room at the campus gym for about fifteen minutes after warm-up, loitering on a bench with a set of dumbbells by his feet that he'd barely touched, let alone lifted. He'd been feeling kinda weird about stuff for a couple of days by then and he guesses even then he knew that "stuff" was really "what happened at Zoë's" and "what happened at Zoë's" really wasn't about his stupid English assignment that had been making his head hurt for the past week or so. It was about the sex. It was about Ian, whose last name he wasn't sure he'd ever known 'cause if he had then he definitely could remember it. He'd really only ever known him as Zoë's hot ex before that night. Now he was Zoë's hot ex who he'd screwed in Zoë's bed, and he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He'd been thinking about Ian's legs wrapped around his waist, and the curve of his biceps with his hands cuffed above his head, and the way he'd moved against him. He'd been thinking about the hitch in Ian's breath as he pushed his dick inside him and how he'd called him _Mark_ when he came. He'd known it was a fantasy right from the start, sure, because Zoë had explained it to him, and he knew he'd been totally meant to be some other guy and not himself and he'd figured that was fine, but it'd kinda stuck with him anyway. The three or four times he'd brought himself off thinking about it, in the shower leaning against the tiles and on his knees in his bed in the dark with his eyes closed like maybe that was what a blindfold felt like, it'd ended with _Mark_. He didn't even really know who the heck Mark was, except the guy who Ian wanted to fuck him. 

He was starting to think about just giving up and heading home 'cause his heart just wasn't in it but then there Ian was, standing there by the door looking longingly at a weight bench wearing a whole lot more clothing than he had been the last time Brad had seen him. And the next thing Brad knew, he was abandoning his dumbbells on the rack, grabbing his water bottle and his towel and heading Ian's way. He couldn't've said why. It wasn't like he'd ever approached him before, and it wasn't like it was the first time they'd decided to work out at the same time.

"Hey, man, you looking for someone to spot you?" Brad asked, and Ian looked at him in his beat-up Otters tee like he'd just run into Brad Pitt in the gym and not Brad Melnick. Then he shook it off - literally, like a shaggy-haired dog, which was really something to see - and then he grinned at him. He practically beamed at him. 

"Yeah, if you have the time?" Ian said, running one hand over his hair like he was totally bewildered. "That'd be great. I mean, you're so huge you could probably bench twice my bodyweight, but yeah. Yeah."

Brad smiled. He shrugged. "Sure," he replied. "I'll do you if you do me." And he hadn't even meant it the way it sounded when he said it but the scandalized look on Ian's face as they headed for the weights was totally with the embarrassment so he absolutely didn't try to take it back. 

It was a good workout. After the first twenty minutes Brad even managed to get the mental image of Ian's ass around his cock out of his head and they really worked out, and okay so Brad was stronger and Brad had the better technique but once Ian had stopped staring at him like aliens had just landed in Orlin and taken over the whole football team starting with him, it turned out he had a pretty good work ethic - when it came to his body, at least, 'cause he'd heard horror stories from Zoë about his study habits that were pretty much like Brad's were, or at least how they were without help. They got hot, they got sweaty, and Ian's tee clung to his skin in places and Brad tried hard to look like he hadn't noticed that at all, the way Ian tried to look like he wasn't staring in the locker room when they were done when Brad took off his shirt and stripped down to his jock to change. He figured he'd shower when he got home, but needing to toss two sets of clothes into the laundry instead of just his gym gear was totally worth the wide-eyed way Ian looked at him. 

"Hey, great workout," Brad told him, still standing there real close to naked but that was fine, he played football, he told himself he was used to it. He turned to his bag to pull out his fresh jeans and green tee, giving Ian a close-up of his bare ass, and when he glanced back over his shoulder he was definitely staring. Brad liked it. Brad _really_ liked it. He was pretty confused about how much he liked it.

"Yeah," Ian replied, looking a whole lot like he didn't know exactly which direction it was safe to direct his eyes. "We should totally do it again sometime."

"Just give me a yell next time you see me in the gym," Brad said, and he pulled on his jeans and zipped them up and Ian glanced at his hands - which meant glancing at his crotch - and blushed pink right across his cheeks. "The guys from the team can be really shitty lifting buddies. It's all _go hard or go home_." Brad pulled on his shirt and he stepped into his sneakers, then knelt to lace them. He glanced up at Ian as he did, realizing he was pretty close to him, realizing from the look on Ian's face exactly where his dirty mind had gone considering how close Brad had wound up to his groin; he could've leaned forward and nuzzled his dick right through his shorts he was so close and Brad knew he should've been embarrassed, but he was somehow kinda thrilled instead. "And hard and fast is great, but sometimes I like to take my time, y'know?"

Ian's eyes were like fricking saucers and if his brows had gotten much higher they'd've crawled right up off of his face, but he nodded like he was paying any attention at all to what Brad was saying. Brad held out his hand like he was even close to needing help to get back up off of the floor, and Ian took it; he helped him up to his feet and Brad grinned, so then Ian did, bright and confused and kinda self-conscious like he didn't have a clue what the heck was going on. To be totally honest, Brad wasn't sure he could've told him. 

"I'll see you around, okay?" Brad said, and he gave his hand a squeeze then let it go. 

"Sure, yeah," Ian replied. "I mean, you'll totally see me around."

Brad pointed at Ian's Otters shirt. "Maybe at the game on Saturday?"

"Yeah," Ian replied. "I'll, um. I'll look forward to it?" He really looked like he would.

Then Brad left. He flashed him one last smile and he grabbed his gear and he left. 

He had no idea what the hell he'd just done, 'cause he sure as heck hadn't ever flirted like that with a guy before, but he figured at least he'd left an impression. 

\---

The game wasn't the next time he saw him. It wasn't even the next but one. The game was time number three. 

Brad started the game pretty well, kinda like always, but then he spotted Ian up in the bleachers with a huge goofy grin on his face and jeez, suddenly Brad was grinning inside his helmet, too. Beau looked at him like he'd lost his goddamn mind and heck, maybe he had; pretty soon he was playing one of the best games of his life pretty much just because the guy he'd been fucking - who _didn't even know it was him_ \- was watching him do it. 

That was the thing, though: the whole sex thing hadn't ended with the first time. Zoë had texted him after practice again the following week and he'd taken her "emergency" with a huge-ass pinch of salt but somehow he'd wound up driving over to her place anyway, and there she was, waiting, just without the shiny vinyl that'd looked sort of like she'd been partially covered in spray-painted Saran wrap. Considering some of her art stuff, Brad figured it really might've been.

"I swear to God, Zoë, if this is the same 'emergency' as last time..." he said, making air quotes with his fingers and trying to sound like he hadn't come over precisely because he thought it was. He had. He was pretty sure Zoë knew that as well as he did.

"It is," she said. "He really enjoyed himself last time." She wiggled her brows. "He really enjoyed _your_ self last time, too. C'mon, Bradley, you can't tell me it wasn't fun." And he guessed that much was true, at least; whatever else it had been, it'd been fun. He'd been getting off on how much _fun_ it was at least once a day for the past week. 

She took him to the bedroom. She let Ian know her friend was with her and then Brad went into the room and there Ian was again, handcuffed and naked except for the blindfold just like the last time. He was hard already, at least most of the way, stretched out on his back, and the way his knees were hitched up and his thighs were spread wide, Brad could tell there'd been no Zoë-assisted prep this time - there was no sex toy pushed up inside him, no telltale gleam of lube under the moody dimmed lights that had to be for his benefit 'cause Ian sure as heck couldn't see it. He'd have to do it himself this time. Brad wasn't totally sure why that made him so nervous. 

"I'm glad you came back," Ian said, while Brad was taking off his clothes. "Zoë said she was pretty sure you would, but y'know, I thought maybe you'd think once was enough or something." 

Brad toed off his sneakers and he climbed onto the bed and really, even if he'd been supposed to speak, even if Ian hadn't still been pretending he was some mystery friend called Mark, he wasn't sure what he would've said. So he reached for the lube instead, that was there on the nightstand by the spare handcuff key. He slicked up his fingers and the first place he touched him was the crack of his ass, rubbing the stuff between his cheeks, and Ian took a sharp breath at it, though whether that was because the lube was cold or just because he wasn't expecting it, well, who the heck knew. But, from the look on his face and the way he spread his thighs, he absolutely didn't mind.

As he rubbed him there, as he teased at the rim of his hole with his fingertips, honestly Brad wasn't sure what the hell he was doing back at Zoë's. The first time had been good, sure, and he'd had fun sorta-kinda-flirting at the gym and getting him all flustered, and jeez, he'd gone back home from the gym and gotten into the shower and he'd totally gotten himself off imagining screwing Ian bent over the weight bench, about doing him in the showers up against the wall. But Ian was probably even half-convinced he _was_ Mark with the blindfold on, not just that he was playing the part, and it kinda creeped him out - probably more than it should've - that he was pretty much just a substitute for another guy's dick. 

Still, he rubbed at Ian's hole and jeez, his cock was hard inside the jeans he was still wearing and he guessed maybe just once more couldn't hurt. So he eased one of Ian's legs up with one hand and rested it over his shoulder to expose him more, to open him up, and he pushed just the tip of one finger into him, real slow. He pushed it in, pushed it deeper, pushed it right up to his knuckle, and Ian spread his thighs out even wider, squeezed around him, tried to relax and got maybe halfway there. He looked pretty amazing like that, Brad thought, rolling his hips to try to get more, to get his finger in him deeper, so Brad pulled back, he re-lubed, he pushed into him with two fingers instead and Ian groaned out loud with it, though he bit off the sound and blushed bright red like he was embarrassed by the fact that he enjoyed it. And jeez, that was hot, the way he absolutely wanted it, the way he pushed against his fingers as Brad rocked his hand, the way his cock was so hard and the tip of it was kinda wet and oh God, Brad moved. He leaned down and he teased the tip of Ian's cock with the tip of his tongue. He took him into his mouth as he fucked him with his fingers. The next time Ian groaned, he didn't try to stop himself. 

The furthest Brad had gotten with a guy before that first time with Ian was a blow job - the thing was: he'd been on the receiving end. Still, he figured he knew what he liked and what he thought really didn't work and Jesus, really, the way Ian yanked on the cuffs above his head, pulling there for leverage so he could lift his hips and let Brad push his fingers deeper, that was _really_ hot. He sucked him harder, longer, deeper, almost made himself gag once or twice so okay, hey, learning curve, but Ian was fucking _writhing_ by that point so he figured what the heck. He let him fuck his mouth. He let him fuck his mouth till his hips were bucking and he gasped and groaned and yanked on the cuffs till the headboard creaked. He let him fuck his mouth until he jerked and tensed and squeezed around Brad's fingers and he came with a shout that Zoë probably heard wherever she'd disappeared to, still in Brad's mouth. It was bitter and weird but not totally awful and Brad swallowed 'cause why not. He liked to think there wasn't much he wasn't there for trying at least once.

He pulled his fingers out. He sat up. And okay so maybe he could've fucked him, maybe he could've pulled down his jeans and shoved up his shirt and shoved his cock in where his fingers had just been maybe Ian even expected him to fuck him, but he jerked himself off instead, kneeling there between Ian's thighs with his jeans around his thighs. He was so turned on it really didn't take long - a couple of minutes and he muffled his groan with his own fricking shirt as he came all over Ian's abdomen, all over Ian's softening cock. He paused just a second, took a deep breath and then he ran his fingers through it. He stroked Ian's half-soft cock with it. He squeezed his balls with it, he fucked his hole just for a few short seconds with his come-slicked fingers. Ian shivered. Ian said something that sounded kinda like cursing in a language Brad really didn't know and he clenched his jaw and he strained against him like he could've done it all night but then Brad pulled back. 

He would've liked to've stayed. He would've liked to've fingered him till he got hard again then fucked him till he came, but that wasn't the deal - the deal was Brad was Mark. He couldn't let himself forget that. 

He left. He went home. Sometime around midnight, he got himself off again thinking about his come on Ian's skin. 

\---

"Y'know, he said he liked what you did last night," Zoë told him the next night, mid-movie once their tutoring thing was over, casual like this was perfectly normal conversation. The frown he gave her was probably what made her lean over and ruffle his hair then add, "Don't worry, he didn't tell me _what_ you did, just that he really liked it when you did it." 

Brad grimaced, but he figured it said something about Zoë that she was totally fine with him fucking her ex. He wasn't sure _what_ it said, but it definitely said something. 

"Y'know, he said he'd like to see you again," she said, on the phone the next morning, once she'd woken him up with the shitty ringtone she'd set for herself on his phone that he couldn't seem to figure out how to override. "Well, for values of _see_ where he really means _feel_." 

Brad grimaced. " _He'd like to feel me again_ sounds like I'm a grapefruit he's thinking about picking up at the store," he said. 

Zoë snorted. "Well, I'm pretty sure he'd like to feel your grapefruits," she said. "I don't know, maybe next time I should leave the handcuffs off." And once she'd hung up, Brad wound up getting off with that idea in his head. He was pretty sure he wanted to feel Ian's hands on him, around his wrists, cupping his balls, between his thighs. He got off thinking about Ian touching him.

Then, the next day, he was on his way across campus to meet up with Beau and Roman when he ducked into JoJo's to grab a coffee and kill some time so he wouldn't show up unfashionably early. And, fuck, Ian was there behind the counter in an apron, totally working, and it totally wasn't like Zoë hadn't mentioned that to him before. He almost walked right back out again, cursing his own stupid brain, but then Ian spotted him and grinned and gave him a dorky kind of a wave that stupidly made Brad's chest feel kinda tight. He smiled back. He waved back and he got into the queue and Ian kept glancing at him as he worked and Brad tried real hard not to think about bending him over the counter after hours or leaning right over by the register and tugging him into a kinda stubbly kiss by the front of his apron. He would've liked to've kissed him. He'd've liked to've been able to do it in front of all those people. That was new. That was really, really new.

And when it was his turn, there was Ian, grinning, ready to take his order, just a medium latte to go. When he produced his wallet, Ian just shook his head and said, "Nah, this one's on me." Then he scrawled _Brad_ on the cup. He liked the way he wrote his name. He liked the fact he knew it.

"Hey, thanks," Brad said, kinda feeling like _thanks_ was maybe inadequate, but then a bunch of guys dragged him into a conversation about the game they had coming up on Saturday and Ian had more customers to serve. All Brad could do was catch Ian's eye when his coffee was up and raise it to him in a weird kind of thank you salute. 

Ian nodded, peered past his customer and called, "So, I'll see you at the game on Saturday?" like he was asking for the earth and was maybe kinda hopeful but still pretty much expecting a shutdown, like he still couldn't believe the Otters' superstar QB had swooped in and befriended him when they'd only talked once before, when Ian had come over to Zoë's to pick up a box of his post-breakup stuff. He'd seemed kinda weird about it - Zoë told him later that Ian was just borderline starstruck. That and he probably thought they were dating. She'd never actually bothered to correct him.

"Yeah, man," Brad called back, over the din of the espresso machine and a dozen conversations. "It's a date." And Ian blushed and Brad laughed 'cause he hadn't meant it that way but whatever, he refused to be embarrassed 'cause the look on Ian's face reflected in the window glass as Brad headed to the door, latte in hand, was absolutely awesome. 

So then, the game. The Otters won pretty big and as they made their way back off of the field toward the locker room after, Brad's helmet dangling loose from one hand, he looked for Ian and found him nearby. He made a detour by the stand, close enough a few guys leaned down to shake his hand, so he obliged and then turned his attention to Ian. If he ever made it to the NFL, he wasn't going to be some stuck-up jackass. Heck, he was still as much of a fan of the game as any of those guys were.

"Hey, great game," Ian said, leaning at the railing, looking down at him, so Brad grabbed the rail and hopped on up to stand on the wall, narrowing the gap between them. 

"Yeah, man, thanks for coming," he replied. "Hey, you wanna come by the house and grab a few beers? Most of the guys are heading out but I'm thinking I want a quiet one." 

Ian gawped at him for a second like he'd just offered him a brand new Porsche and not probably the cheapest beer Roman had managed to locate, then he nodded. 

"Yeah, that sounds great," he said, looking a whole lot like it really did sound great, like it was the best offer he'd had in weeks. 

"So I'll see you by the south gate in thirty?" 

"Sure, I'll see you there." 

They met by the south entrance maybe twenty-five minutes after that, once Brad had showered and changed and dodged the _but dude, the whole team's going out!_ bullet. It turned out Ian had walked there to the game and Brad had caught a ride in with Beau so they took a kinda ambling twenty-minute stroll back across the entire campus, though Brad kinda felt 50% amped and 50% on the verge of exhausted collapse. People stopped them to pat Brad drunkenly on the back or shake his hand or point and grin and yell, and Ian looked like he totally understood their reactions, till they came to the front door and went inside and damn, it was that point Brad realized he really hadn't thought this through. He had no plan. He hadn't really meant to wind up back in the house that he shared with his brother and the guys, with _Ian_ , grabbing beers from the refrigerator and chatting about how it turned out Ian was a Zoology major, something something capuchin monkeys. Brad had to admit he couldn't imagine caring that much about anything except football. He thought maybe he'd've liked to.

They wound up sitting on the couch in the den, watching some kind of shitty 80s action movie while they drank a couple of beers and talked. Once Ian relaxed - Brad guessed he _really_ liked football 'cause he looked whole a lot like he'd been invited to a bigtime draft party and not just Brad's place with the ketchup-stained rug and the bathroom that smelled like a locker room pretty much 24/7 - he really did seem like the nice guy Zoë had always said he was, and they got along pretty well, too. The only problem was, Ian's fantasy was some kind of a relationship with his gay best friend and as far as he knew, Brad was just another heterosexual jock into football and girls and beer. Maybe Brad wasn't real clear on what he did want, but it didn't involve girls. Heck, he wasn't even really into beer.

Of course, Ian had no idea Brad was the guy. He had no idea Brad's mouth had been anywhere near his cock. He had no idea Brad's cock had been anywhere near his asshole. Sitting there, shooting the breeze with a bottle of beer in his hand and an easy smile on his face, Ian had no idea that the way his shirt rode up was driving Brad insane. He had no idea that Brad would've liked to've pulled that shirt right off of him right then and there and put his hands on him and his mouth on him and his dick in him and made him groan with it the way he'd done on two totally separate nights by then. But it wasn't like he could tell him the truth. That wasn't the deal. That sure as heck wouldn't've been helping.

Ian was still there when the guys got back in and Brad introduced them - once they figured out he was a football fan, no one cared there was a stranger in their den or that he was drinking their beer. Roman made him shift over on the couch so he could sit down next to Brad and then Ian's thigh was pressed to Brad's and Brad slung one arm across the back of the couch to make a little more space almost like he'd put it was around Ian's shoulders. Ian looked at him, wide-eyed, rabbit in headlights. Brad was pretty sure he was close to blushing, or maybe that was wishful thinking. Brad grinned. The conversation moved on.

And when Ian left, around midnight, Brad walked him to the door and he leaned against the frame of it kinda awkwardly, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. Ian looked at him, half-smiling under the weird streetlight that made his eyes look really blue.

"Tonight was great," Ian said, and ran one hand through his hair, looking kinda like he wasn't sure what he was saying was even words in English, let alone that it made any sense. "I mean, the guys are great. You've got a great place. Thank Roman for not choking me out when he realized I drank the last beer?" He ruffled his own hair, tilted his head, shifted his weight. "So, you wanna do this again sometime?" he asked. "Maybe with pizza?"

"The guys keep nagging me about nutrition," Brad replied. "But dude, I am _so_ easy for pizza. I'm there. Maybe Tuesday after I'm done with practice?"

Ian frowned. Not real obviously, considering the crappy streetlight, but it was there, and Brad absolutely knew why that was. 

"Hey, could we maybe do Wednesday?" Ian said. "I'll totally supply the pie." 

"Around seven?"

"I'll be here." 

"Awesome." 

And Ian left, after a weird moment where it totally looked like he didn't know whether to punch his arm all friendly-like or maybe do something else entirely. In the end, he just gave him a kind of lopsided grin and made his way away; Brad watched, and Ian turned to wave that dorky wave at him. Brad waved back, trying not to think about how he would've liked to've asked him to stay. He could've slept on the couch. He could've slept in Brad's room, on the shitty air mattress they kept in the hall closet that had the slow puncture they'd tried to patch like twenty times. He could've slept in Brad's bed, and if they'd woken up with morning wood maybe that would've been okay. Then again, maybe it wouldn't.

He went back inside, closed the door and went up to his room. He turned out the light and sprawled. He guessed he got why Tuesday wasn't great for Ian: Tuesday was the night Zoë had been texting Brad with her _emergency_ and Ian let her cuff him to the bed so he couldn't see that her friend wasn't his friend Mark.

Tuesday was the day Ian pretended Brad was someone else. Whatever the heck this thing was that they were doing, it needed to fit in around it. Brad figured at least he knew where he stood. 

\---

He meant to not go. He totally, absolutely meant it. 

Brad told himself Saturday night and all day Sunday that if Zoë texted him then screw it, he wasn't going - she'd just have to do it herself and Ian could pretend like her enormous strap-on was this Mark guy's dick. It really seemed like a great plan, he thought, 'cause then he wouldn't feel a lot like he was lying, till Monday morning came around and he ran into Ian in the gym again, and they spent an hour lifting weights together. Ian's shirt was so tight he might as well've not been wearing it and his hair got sweaty and it stuck to his forehead the same exact way it did when he was having sex and suddenly, right then, looking down at him on the bench over the top of the bar, it hit him: it wasn't like Brad was Zoë's only male friend who liked guys. Maybe if he didn't turn up she'd just text someone else and maybe Ian would wind up fucking himself on someone else's cock on Tuesday night. Maybe that should've been fine with him - it probably should've been, it _really_ should've been - but somehow it really, really wasn't. 

Zoë texted him on Tuesday. He went over. There was Ian, lying face down on the bed this time with his hands cuffed up above his head; he shuffled up onto his knees and his forearms as Brad took off his clothes, and then Brad moved over to the bed. 

Ian's skin was still hot from the shower when Brad ran his hands over his bare back, right from his shower-damp hairline to the dimples at the base of his spine. He parted Ian's cheeks with his hands, rubbed the pad of one thumb against his hole and heard him sigh as he shifted his knees a little wider. He'd've let him do anything, Brad thought, because he trusted him, because he trusted _Mark_ , and maybe it was dumb but whatever, spur of the moment, he leaned down and he teased at Ian's hole between his cheeks with the tip of his tongue. Ian groaned into the pillow, surprised, sounding _so_ turned on, his cock hanging down hard between his thighs and his knees so far apart the tip of it almost grazed the sheets, and Brad licked him, lapped at him with the flat of his tongue and flickered the tip around the rim as he reached between Ian's legs to give his cock a slow squeeze. 

He tongued him till his fricking jaw hurt, then he pulled back and he lubed his fingers and he jacked himself as he let Ian fuck himself on his hand; then, he pulled back and he lubed his erection and he jacked Ian as he let him fuck himself on his dick. He just stayed almost completely still and he let Ian do it, all of it, shoving back hard against him, taking him in deep with a slap on skin on skin. Ian came like that, with Brad's hand around his cock. Brad came like that, with Ian's asshole tight around his cock. And when he'd caught his breath, he left. He might've stayed all night if he hadn't. He wouldn't've wanted to go.

The next day, Ian came over around seven, with pizza in hand just as promised. They went upstairs to eat in Brad's room so Roman wouldn't steal a slice or two or three, sitting there on Brad's bed with the box between them, and they watched another movie and they played some Xbox after. Once the pizza was out of the way, they wound up shuffling closer together. They wound up shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh, Brad trying hard to kick Ian's ass in the game on the screen while trying not to think about fucking it right there in his bedroom. He tried not to think about doing him right there on the bed with Ian's calves hooked up over his shoulders. He tried not to think about shoving him up against the back of the door and pulling down his jeans and doing him like that, still in their clothes, all rough and breathless. He tried not to think about how maybe he wouldn't mind Ian fucking him, either, bent over the desk, hoping his webcam wasn't turned on. He failed. He absolutely thought about it. He lost the game. 

"Ian says he enjoyed Tuesday," Zoë told him the next night, once they were done combing through his essay. "I think maybe it's been good for him."

Brad smiled halfheartedly and gave a pretty noncommittal shrug. "Yeah, I mean, me too," he said. "He seems like a great guy." He really did seem like a great guy. He seemed like a _really_ great guy.

And the next day, Ian texted maybe he'd like to grab a coffee after he got off of work at JoJo's, so Brad went over there to meet him. And the next day, Ian texted him good luck while he was on the team bus on the way out to their game, and they emojied a conversation the whole way there while Ian supplied (in)appropriate facts about penises of the animal kingdom like that was something normal guys did in the course of a normal Saturday. And the next day, Ian came over and they played Xbox and drank a couple of beers and when Brad rubbed his shoulder and winced - just a bit of an ache to remember a jackass linebacker from Saturday's game by - Ian leaned over and rubbed it for him. Brad raised his brows. Ian stopped. 

"Was that weird?" Ian asked. 

"Nah, it's good," Brad replied, though he guessed it _was_ kinda weird, unless that was the kind of thing non-player buddies did sometimes. "I just didn't expect it." So Ian put his hands on him again, over the top of his tee. Ian shuffled around to get behind him and reach the spot a little better, and jeez, it felt really, really good. _Really_ good. _Too_ good. A couple of minutes and his stupid dick started to notice exactly how good it felt and not just his painful shoulder. 

"Hey, take off your shirt and lie down and I'll do it right," Ian said, and the idea that he could hide his crotch with the mattress appealed way too much for him to realize he was just making the situation worse till it was already far too late. By the time he realized, he was shirtless with Ian kneeling astride the back of his thighs, his dick pressed into the comforter and Ian's hands on his bare back. It wasn't like Zoë's massages. It wasn't like the team's masseur's. Ian's hands on him made him shiver and breathe too hard against the pillow. He's still not sure how he didn't just wind up fucking the goddamn mattress. He's still not sure how Ian didn't notice, but he didn't. 

After that, that was just kinda how it was. They worked out together twice a week, played Xbox, grabbed coffee sometimes when Ian got off work. Ian came to games until the season ended and on Tuesdays, every Tuesday, Brad went over to Zoë's when she texted him to. He fucked him on his knees. He fucked him face to face with just the blindfold there between them. He sucked his cock, he fingered his hole, he fed him his dick and he came on his chest and Ian always loved it all. Brad loved the way he moved and sounds he made. He didn't really care who heard.

Five more weeks, six weeks, past Christmas, into January. There were evenings in, nights out with the guys, one morning swim with Ian in a bright pink Speedo that might've been more at home on a beach in Florida and really, all Brad wanted to do was strip him out of it. They showered after, communal showers that didn't seem weird to Brad 'cause that was just what he was used to after games with the guys, but then he glanced at Ian and Ian was already looking at him, gawking like he'd never seen another guy's cock before. Brad wanted to tell him he could look all he wanted. He wanted to tell him he could touch him if he wanted to, too. He wanted to get a handful of Ian's wet hair and kiss him, like he had a whole lot of experience with that. He just finished his shower instead. 

Pretty soon, they were cramming for midterms in the den at Ian's place, and his roommate Penny seemed kinda suspicious of Brad's intentions but in the end it was Mark that Brad really paid attention to. Mark was nothing like Brad was - that much was really, really clear. He was shorter and he was smaller and he was about ten times smarter and it was pretty obvious that he and Ian got along really well. It was obvious how easy things were between them and Brad could totally see how the sex would fit in and they'd probably wind up married with 2.4 kids and a picket fence or something like that while Brad was busy in the closet. He guessed he could see how they'd be good together. He guessed he could see why Ian liked him. And, while they were out picking up drinks and pizza, Brad took the opportunity to slink out of the back like a total coward. He asked Penny to tell Ian he'd had to get home and she nodded like she understood, though she did also take a photo of him on his way out that turned him oranger than his hair was. 

And the next night, he didn't mean to go to Zoë's place. He meant to ignore her, but there he was twenty minutes after the text. Zoë said nothing as he went into the bedroom though then again he didn't ask her to, but when he got into the room, Ian wasn't cuffed. He wasn't naked. He was just sitting there in his clothes. The only thing that was the same was the blindfold. 

"I thought I should explain," Ian said, wringing his hands like he almost missed the cuffs. "I wanted to thank you, 'cause this has been great, but I guess I've kinda met someone. I think this has to stop. I'm pretty sure this has to stop." 

Brad leaned back against the wall. He guessed he understood; he'd seen what the two of them were like together, after all, and it made a lot of sense, and whatever, _whatever_ , he'd always known it wasn't for real. He told himself it didn't feel like a punch in the gut and he pushed away from the wall, he went over there, he ran one hand over Ian's hair. He pressed his mouth to Ian's forehead just above his blindfold, and he leaned lower and brushed his mouth against his. They'd never kissed before. Honestly, he wasn't sure that really counted, either. 

He left, Zoë frowning at him as he went. 

He'd been stupid. He'd been really, _really_ stupid. He needed to move on.

\---

He avoided him in the gym the next morning. He avoided the coffee shop after class that afternoon, too. 

He ignored Ian's texts that day and the day after and the day after that. He ignored his calls and his tweets and his Facebook messages and the envelope he shoved underneath the front door. It seemed like the right thing to do, all things considered, 'cause it wasn't like he could explain to him what the problem was in words, out loud - it wasn't like he wanted to be Ian's friend, no matter what he'd told himself before. He didn't want to be the guy who'd fucked him and pretended Ian knew who he was when he didn't even want to know. He couldn't make believe he didn't want something pretty different from him, kinda like Roman and Daisy since they'd gotten together but with at least 90% less sexting.

Spring break came and went and Brad and Beau both stayed on campus; Brad was pretty determined he was _not_ gonna flunk Rocks for Jocks and Beau had a make-up assignment for a test he'd missed due to food poisoning - they were _not_ letting Roman cook ever again. He saw Ian behind the counter in JoJo's when he passed on his way to Zoës- he guessed he was still saving for his grad program, something something monkeys South America. He saw Ian through the gym window, curling dumbbells in the weight room. He saw Ian in the street carrying pizzas. He saw him hauling his clean laundry and dropping a t-shirt on the sidewalk; he picked it up and gave it to Zoë to hand back. He maybe should've just left it where it was.

The Otters' spring game came and went and Ian was there, just like he always was, sitting up in the bleachers with a giant foam finger, between Penny and Mark; Brad got mean after after, hard and mean and focused, and Beau looked at him like he'd lost it but in the end, they won. He spotted Ian in the parking lot after they were done, saw him excuse himself from his friends and start toward him, so he let himself into the passenger side of Beau's SUV and they drove away before he could get even halfway there. The problem wasn't that he didn't want to talk to him; the problem was he _did_ want to.

 _That_ was the problem - he really hadn't moved on and more than that, he really didn't want to. He missed Xbox after class on Monday. He missed studying with him, not that they'd ever really managed to study for long. He missed pizza and the extra workout because of pizza and how Ian had an encyclopedic knowledge of the Otters' stats. And he missed the sex. He really missed the sex. Driving away from the game that afternoon, he figured maybe that was the one thing he could do something about.

It wasn't a good idea but it was what he'd got; when he saw Zoë next, he asked for her help. He told her what was going on. She said she'd see what she could do. She said she'd be discreet. 

Four days later, she texted him - she didn't even try to call it an emergency. He apologized to the guys and he made his exit and twenty minutes later he was standing there in Zoë's bedroom, wondering what the fuck he thought he was doing as he stripped off all of his clothes, piece by piece. He sat down on the edge of the bed. She tied the blindfold into place. He lay down. She cuffed him. 

"It'll be fine," she told him, giving his chest a semi-reassuring pat, or at least he's pretty sure that's what she was aiming for. "He's a great guy. He totally knows what he's doing." And he nodded, and he waited, wondering why the heck he'd ever decided to go through with this, wondering why he hadn't done it sooner. He heard the front door open, a muffled conversation, footsteps in the hall. He heard the bedroom door creak.

"I'll leave you two together," Zoë said, and he heard the door close. He took a breath, trying to steady himself, but it absolutely didn't work. He was already half hard. He wanted it. He hated that he wanted it. 

The first place the guy touched him was his hips; he flinched, and he chuckled kinda wryly, and fortunately the guy didn't seem too bothered by the way that he'd reacted. He felt warm hands move over his skin, rubbing the hairs on his shins the wrong way and making him shiver, over his thighs and his hips and his chest, nails raking, only hard enough to make him shiver at that, too. He felt the guy shift over him, straddling his thighs, felt him lean down and press his mouth to the center of his chest, his collarbone, the side of his neck. He felt his cock drag hot and moist against his abdomen and his own stiffened in response, and when the guy kissed him, when his mouth pressed down over his, it was greedy, it was hot and slow and hungry and God, it was everything he'd wanted it to be with Ian. He wasn't sure if that made it better or if it just made it worse. 

The guy moved down. He bit lightly at Brad's nipple, he licked lightly at his cock, he nudged Brad's knees apart and knelt between them. He wrapped his hand around him, stroked slowly, rubbed the pad of his thumb around the tip and made Brad's breath come in shakily. He pressed his mouth to the inside of Brad's knee. He pressed his mouth to the inside of Brad's thigh. He squeezed his balls. He ran his fingers back behind them. He teased at the hole between Brad's cheeks, and then he moved for the lube. 

He'd never done this before. He'd never even tried it on himself before. He didn't have Ian's collection of sex toys or a secret past or anything like that - all he knew was he wanted it and maybe it would make him feel better about this fricking stupid thing with Ian but then there were slick fingertips pressing at his hole and oh God, he didn't know if he was ready at all except he had to be, he really had to be, it felt so much like it was now or never again. The guy pushed the first one in and it felt really weird, not bad, kind of hot, and if he imagined it was Ian with a kinda awestruck look on his face that he was letting him do this to him, that made it easier. That made it better when the guy got a second finger in there, when he slicked him up inside, when he got him ready; it made him not curse out loud when the guy's fingers were back out again and the blunt tip of his cock was there instead, pressing at him. He pulled on the cuffs just the way that Ian had. He spread his thighs. He pulled up his knees. Then the guy pushed into him, slowly, and it smarted but it felt good, the stretch of it felt good, the girth of his cock filling him up felt _really_ good. He could imagine it was Ian, with his hair sticking to his forehead and his lip caught between his teeth. Whoever it was, he could totally imagine being fucked by Ian. He wondered if it'd been that way for him, pretending he was Mark.

He got his legs around the guy's waist and he pulled him deeper, and he groaned the way he'd never been allowed to in all the times he'd been with Ian. He rocked against him the way that Ian had with him and it felt easier as he relaxed, as the guy shifted his hips, as he started to pull back out and push back in, all friction and heat and a kind of weird, radiating pleasure. He squeezed his eyes shut underneath the blindfold. He pulled him in sharply with his ankles around his waist. His brother would've been ashamed but he figured screw that, this was what he wanted. Almost. Okay, so not quite. But it was close.

When the guy came, he thought that was it. He could feel his cock pulsing in him and the way his muscles went taut and his hips bucked up against him totally out of his rhythm, and he thought that was it but then he moved, he pulled out, and then he had a slick hand on Brad's dick and the next thing, he was crawling up over him, and the _next_ thing, he settled down, pushed down, and jeez, the crazy idiot was taking him all the way down to his balls. He started to ride him, slow at first, his hands spread out over Brad's chest, then faster, harder, and Brad yanked on the cuffs around his wrists so hard the superficial pink fuzz did nothing to stop them biting down and he braced his heels against the mattress so he could push up against him. He pushed up against him. He fucked him at least as much as he was fucking himself right there on Brad's cock. And maybe it wasn't the only thing he'd been missing since he'd turned into the city jackass and cut Ian out of his life, but when his nerves all tingled and his muscles all pulled tight, when his fingers curled to fists and he thrust up and he came in him, it was definitely on the list. He'd missed fucking Ian almost as much as he'd just plain missed Ian.

Once he'd come, he thought that was it. He thought the guy would do exactly what he'd always done himself and get up from the bed and dress and leave, but he sat there, Brad's cock still inside him, his hands still spread out over Brad's chest as he caught his breath. Except then he moved. He leaned away, and then Brad felt the cuffs being unlocked from around his wrists. Once they were gone, the guy twined his fingers with Brad's like that was just the way things worked somehow. Brad didn't get it. He didn't get why he didn't just leave. He didn't get why he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the hollow at the base of Brad's throat or the way he rubbed his palms with his thumbs until they tickled. He totally didn't get it. Until, suddenly, he did. 

"Ian," he said, with a lurch of his stomach 'cause maybe he was right and maybe he wasn't and he wanted to be and he didn't, who the heck even knew. 

"What gave me away?" Ian replied. "Was it my manly charms? I bet it was my manly charms." 

Brad snorted. He slid his hands up and he pulled off the blindfold and then for a moment it was almost like he didn't want to take it off somehow except he did, except he didn't, then he did. He opened his eyes. Ian gave him a sheepish smile as he pushed his sweaty hair back from his forehead. 

"Good surprise?" he said. The look on his face said he wasn't totally sure how Brad was going to react. It said he'd trusted Zoë and who knew how that was going to turn out on any given day. 

Brad looked up at him. Brad ran his hands over Ian's thighs. He ran his hands up to Ian's hips, up to his waist, rubbed at his warm, bare skin with his thumbs. 

"Great surprise," he said, meaning every word of it. "So Zoë called you?"

"Yeah, Zoë called me," Ian replied. "I thought you two were dating. I should've maybe asked?"

"I should've maybe told you." 

"I should've maybe told Zoë I'd stopped pretending you were Mark and started pretending you were you." 

"I should've maybe told Zoë I wanted to date her ex." 

"Yeah, she said to tell you we pretty much _have_ been dating for months already." Ian's sheepish smile made a timely reappearance. "I don't really think she's wrong about that. I think maybe I'm just oblivious." 

Brad shrugged. He grinned. He dumped Ian down on his back on the mattress in one swift move and Ian laughed as Brad sprawled there on top of him. He wrapped his arms around Brad's waist. Then, kinda cautiously, he moved one hand up. He ran his fingers over Brad's red hair to the back of his neck. He pulled him into a kiss, and Brad's pulse quickened. Maybe one or both of them should've been angry about the whole thing but they totally weren't. Brad, at least, was just relieved. Brad was just really, really pleased. 

Zoë said they'd pretty much been dating for months already. When they pulled apart out of that kiss, short of breath and all not-quite-shy smiles - well, all things considered, Brad guessed he couldn't say she'd been wrong, either. 

Maybe they _had_ been dating for months. All that'd been missing was this.

\---

Six years ago, Brad made the draft though by then he was totally openly gay; Beau had been drafted a couple of years before him and he threatened to beat up anyone who made a huge deal of the whole thing. His threat turned out to be surprisingly effective, or maybe it was just that no one really cared by then, but Brad figured it was kinda sweet either way, coming from him. 

Five years ago, Ian got his doctorate in Zoology against pretty much all the crappy student odds, though he swears that just makes him a better academic. He still really likes capuchins; there's a photo of six of them sitting on top of him hung up on the wall in their den. His favorite underwear has cartoon monkeys all over it. Brad likes it, too, though he likes it most of all when he's stripping if off of him.

Four years ago, they moved in together full-time, and three years ago, Ian's best friend Mark was his best man at the wedding; Zoë was Brad's and Beau apparently totally understood. Brad kinda thinks maybe they had a thing once, Beau and Zoë, but at least he's pretty sure Beau's never figured out the naked guy hung up on her wall is his kid brother.

Sometimes he thinks it's funny, the way things go, the paths you take and the people who stop to lend a hand along the way. He'd get misty-eyed except then he'll wake up late in the morning once the season's over and Ian'll tell him in Esperanto that he looks like a more than usually red-haired Bigfoot just 'cause he hasn't got up to shave yet and the worrying thing is he understands him. But Brad just grins and tells him he smells like a monkey - which is totally not a compliment no matter what Ian might like to think - and they go grab a shower together. Their wet room's pretty awesome. Brad likes it more with someone to share it.

"I have a favor to ask," Zoë said that first time, and Brad really can't say he didn't feel at least kinda suspicious about that. It was really just good sense. It was really just self-preservation. After all, she'd asked him some pretty wild favors before that. She's asked more than a few again after.

But it turns out lending a hand that particular night was the very best thing that he's ever done.


End file.
